“Sounds like satanism to me,” Dad chides, his tone disapproving.
“Well, that’s what the papers are implying.” D ticks points off on her fingers. “So, he’s linked to some weird pregame rituals that’d freak a priest out, the assault of a cop, multiple attacks on female students, and nearly $15k debt in parking tickets! Whichever way you look at it, Allan, it’s not the best for his image, is it?”
“Nor his father’s,” Dad states grimly.
Of course that’d be what concerns him the most.
“I just don’t understand why it’s all coming as such a shock. Everyone knows that he nearly got expelled last year for sexually assaulting a female student, and Zach must have told you he was using drugs.”
“You’re staying clean, aren’t you, son?”
“Of course.”
He breathes a sigh of relief. “I got the feeling your father was going to be his agent, Denver.”
“Past tense?”
“I highly doubt he’ll be in the draft.” Dad taps the paper with his finger. “If this carries on, I wouldn’t be surprised if he takes a sabbatical from school. Your father’s interest won’t stick around if that happens.”
“Good. He’s the worst kind of bully.” I fold my arms across my chest. “Look, I don’t want to talk about dumbass students I have to share a campus with on Christmas Day. Are you going to eat with us, or are you just here to lecture me about something I wasn't involved in?”
“Zach,” Denny chides, placing her hand on my forearm.
I scowl at her, but it’s quick to fade.
“You’re my boy, Zach,” Dad mutters. “Where else would I spend the holidays?”
The admission, quietly offered, has the tension in my shoulders leaking out.
We’ve never had the easiest of relationships and I doubt it’ll improve without Mom around to umpire—not unless Denny takes over—but itisChristmas.
I hitch a shoulder. “Truce?”
“Truce.”
Denny’s back to beaming, but it’s genuine this time. “There are mimosas just through there, Mr. Bradley?—”
“Allan. I think it’s time you call me that, don’t you, Denver?”
Her smile’s megawattage lifts a notch, but I can read her too well. She says, “That sounds great to me,” but I know she doesn’t mean it.
She’s never liked him—my girl has good taste.
Tossing me his keys, he asks, “Can you bring the gifts in from the car, please?”
She snags them before I can tell him where to get lost. “Will do, Allan.”
He nods at her in thanks then traipses into the living room.
Denny immediately grabs my arm. “No fighting on Christmas. You know the rules. Even my dickhead father follows that one.”
I grunt. “How can I help it when his whole face pisses me off?”
“Play nice, Zachary Allan Bradley.”
Smirking at her, I plant my hands on her hips and let them drop to her ass. “What’s my reward if I do?”
She pats my cheek, her newly painted nails after a pre-Christmas mother-and-daughter bonding session, that included the full lowdownon our relationship, scratching over my stubble. “I won’t throw your gift in the trash.”
